


Signed, Snagged, Delivered

by cherie_and_her_flop_ficz



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 06:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_and_her_flop_ficz/pseuds/cherie_and_her_flop_ficz
Summary: "I hurry over to her and place my head in her lap to receive a petting and in return offer her comfort. She doesn't need to be sad that you aren't here with me." A moment between Connie and Daryl told through Dog's eyes.





	Signed, Snagged, Delivered

You grunt as you lie down along the wooden planks you have made to be your cot. It is outside, but less outside than being on the other side of this land's borders. You sleep better in here than out there. Still, I wonder what the inside of some of the homes here are like. I wonder if you'll sleep even better in those. But I follow your command and not the other way around, and I am a Good Dog so I do not search them of my own accord. Despite the one farthest northwest reeking of sweets.

You do not use the blanket and pillow you were given. You leave them on the side for me. There they are now—tussled alongside you from where I last laid in them this morning. I do not want to sleep now. The commands you have given me since we've joined this community are few and far between. No Bad Masters live in this land, so you do not set traps.

I wonder who is still wandering this time of night and what kind of adventure I can get myself into. I consider going to say hello to the person who stands tall watching the outside of this land's borders when I hear a door open and close. My ears point up just in time to hear the unmistakable rustle of a paper. Excitement courses through me.

I pad over to the stairs leading to the ground and take a quick look at you. The suddenness of my leaving makes you glance down at me from where you lie. You are silent for a moment, but then you grumble something I do not understand and rotate in attempt to comfy yourself further. It is all the permission I need. I rush down the stairs and race across the land to ensure that my hearing did not fool me. I pass a handful of humans who have become familiar with my presence and do not startle at me anymore. It is not their company I am concerned with. I finally enter the clearing of my subject. My ears were right; she did come out with her paper and marker. However, I am more happy to see her than to know my ears are sharp.

A feeling of excitement gives off from her, too. She smiles and then looks at the area behind me. Her smile falls a bit when she realizes it is empty. I hurry over to her and place my head in her lap to receive a petting and in return offer her comfort. She doesn't need to be sad that you aren't here with me.

Crickets chirp all around us. Their sounds—in addition to her hand smoothing along my fur—lull my eyes to close. They snap open every time a sound out of place occurs, like the twig that breaks under a human's foot a ways away, like the bounce of the cot someone collapses onto in their home. These disturbances are nothing compared to those I would react to on the outside. The groaning of the Bad Masters is awful, and they stumble from every direction which makes them difficult to avoid. I wonder why they can't be like you, be a Good Master and quiet—much like how she is as well. She says less than you and you have said less in my several years of knowing you than the humans I met a few days ago. I admire how disciplined you and She are.

I do not know how much time has passed when she finally pulls her hand away from me. She finds her marker instead. This is when I perk back up.

She seems to be finishing a note she must have started before I joined her. I hoist myself onto the bench she sits on, tail wagging. She uses notes to give you commands, so she must be writing your next one now. I can do her a favor and bring it to you! Despite this land being safe, it is very dark and I do not want her to fall in attempt to find you. She will be thankful for me and she might call me a Good Dog.

When she lifts her hand from the pad, I snag it and sprint back to you. I do not know how urgent this command is since she does not say. I hear her running behind me.

You are already standing by the time we make it up the stairs. Your weapon is in your hand, but you do not point it at either of us. It hangs at your side. Sometimes I wonder why you need it to protect yourself when you have me, but knowing that you do have it when I am not around makes me feel good. "The hell's going on?" You look from me to her. She makes a beeline for the pad in my mouth, but I am too fast and hurry it over to you. You hesitate before accepting it. Your eyes are on her as she makes motions with her hands that I do not think either of us understands. I wonder why she appears to be so frantic and worried. I got the command to you as fast as I could. Your eyes finally fall from her and onto it. My tail wags uncontrollably. Maybe she wants to go outside and set traps.

You stare at the paper a few moments. You then make a sound I have not heard you make before. It is an amused noise.

"A rose," you say.

She shakes her head and motions for the paper back. She writes a new command on it.

LATE NIGHT DOODLING. COULDN'T SLEEP.

She then points to me and makes a snatching motion. This seems to amuse you even more.

"You two had me thinkin somethin was wrong," you mumble, setting your weapon down.

You and She look at one another for a long time. I wonder why so much of nothing is going on. The commands she gave you must not be urgent. I nudge the pillow and pile of blanket you do not use. Although they provide me with comfy sleep, I wonder if she sees them will she join us for the night. I am almost certain it does not compare to the warmth of the home she and her friends stay in, but maybe if she feels how warm you and I are she will like that better. Her eyes fall to the wooden planks, blanket, and pillow. My tail continues to wag; perhaps she is considering staying with us. She brings the marker to the paper again.

YOU SLEEP HERE ...?

"Dog likes it," you tell her.

She dips her head in a nod, but the signal is not one of satisfaction. You either do not notice or do not concern yourself with her disapproval. You wrestle your boots off clumsily, not caring to untie the laces on them that I loved to pull at when I was less trained. You settle onto the wooden planks again. It makes her look away with an uneasy blush, but it does not take long for her to gather herself and come forward.

I give her face a warm lick when she bends to place a kiss on my muzzle. It is an unmistakable parting kiss, a gesture to show she will not be staying. You watch quiet and unresponsive beside us. I feel special when she does not reward you the same affection and instead pulls herself back. She takes a step away, and then another, and I come forward to follow her. Surely she does not think I will leave her to travel back to her home alone. Despite the absence of the Bad Masters, her trek across this land in the darkness could still encounter accident. She shakes her hand and shoos me. I make a whining noise.

"Dog, stay," you order. I sit stubbornly.

She is heading to the stairs when she stops in her tracks. She observes the paper in her hand quietly before ripping it in half. She brings it over and places it beside you. I look to see the initial command she wrote for you. The so-called rose. You do not have time to respond before she is walking away. I whine a little more, settling beside you with my head resting on my front legs. Perhaps tomorrow will be more eventful.

The community falls silent with the night. The twig snaps and wandering feet all come to a cease—these noises replaced only by snoring from different humans I can hear in the distance. Only when I hear the open and close of her door do I let my guard down.

Beside me, you grab hold of the torn paper she left for you. You shift it back and forth between your fingers, letting the moonlight reflect off of the lines. I do not know how much time has passed or how many times my eyelids have drooped closed when you finally fold the paper and tuck it into your vest pocket. What I do know—after years of being your Good Dog and watching you save only the arrows that you shot—is that the note holds some sort of special meaning to you.


End file.
